


Welsh Greens

by soleta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-07
Updated: 2006-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:32:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleta/pseuds/soleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Ron, and Hermione pull a fast one on Tonks and she finds herself in Romania, taking up a life of crime. Fortunately, she has Charlie Weasley to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welsh Greens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xandra_periwink](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=xandra_periwink).



> It looks as though I was supposed to post yesterday. I'm terribly sorry. It seems that I've also lost the letter with the name of my recipient; the only thing I remember is that she had an unusual affinity with the number 54. Luckily, I wrote down her request:
> 
>  _Timeframe of Harry's seventh year. Tonks and Remus are no longer together (any reason, but no Tonks bashing) and Tonks has some assignment that involves Charlie Weasley. Action and adventure key elements (I'm very fond of them stealing things!), and sexual tension is nice, too, without Tonks just saying "on to the next!"_

p>It feels a lot like haunting the grave, she thinks as they take their customary places around the table in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. It's worse than losing Sirius, even though this had been his house; his absence had been tangible, but Dumbledore's is physically crushing. She looks down the table, past Remus' apologetic, diffident smile, past Hermione's pile of newspapers and reports and research, past Arthur's worried face, to Harry, who had deliberately avoided taking Dumbledore's place at the head of the table.

They can't get anywhere if no one will start them off.

They won't get anywhere if the last two months have been any indication.

Despair is creeping into their bones like rheumatism. Tonks knows full well what none of them will allow themselves to say out loud: they could lose this war, not through an attack or a betrayal, but through hopelessness.

"Hermione," she says quietly. Hermione looks up, startled, and smiles questioningly. "How's Europe getting on?"

"Oh!" A little confused, Hermione flips through her stacks and stacks of reports. "Um. France, Germany, Italy, and Romania have all closed their borders for the forseeable future." She glances up at Tonks, who nods encouragingly, and then at Harry, who's slumped in his chair twirling his wand around. He's paying attention, his posture says. Really he is. She sighs. "One of our correspondents in Syria wrote to warn us that the Ministry there is threatening to kill Englishmen on sight, with or without the Dark Mark."

Tonks winces; Syria has been a constant thorn in the Ministry's side for the past dozen years. Kingsley makes a face and settles back in his chair, and she grins at him, understanding perfectly. "So much for _international magical cooperation_ , eh, Shacklebolt?"

Kingsley grins, a little understated, and folds his arms across his chest. "They've never cooperated with us; why start now?" he rumbles.

"Who needs France, anyway?" Tonks waxes philosophically. She can feel everyone else looking at her like she's finally gone 'round the bend, but Kingsley winks at her. As long as her boss doesn't think she's crazy, life is good. She sobers.

"Amsterdam is one of our oldest magical allies. They know exactly how much we need the route to Europe open."

Ron snorts suddenly, catching them all by surprise. "They probably don't fancy You Know Who so close to their borders, either," he says, and everyone looks at him in delight. He's been quieter than even Harry for the last two months; his confidence had been badly shaken by Dumbledore's death, so much so that he rarely speaks and is almost never to be seen out of Hermione's company. Hermione leans over and takes his hand across the table, smiling a little mistily. Ron rolls his eyes and mutters, "All _right_ , Hermione," but folds his hand around hers, hiding it from sight.

Tonks winks at Bill at the other end of the table. He's biting his lip to keep from laughing; he's so far gone that he can only look at Tonks for a second or two before he has to turn away.

"Right, then," she says loudly, over Ron's indignant "Sod off!" to Bill. "We're all right on the European front until the Netherlands decides we're pariahs. Hermione, have you had a chance to look over England yet?"

"Not as well as I'd like, I'm afraid," Hermione apologizes, scrambling for papers. She's never seen Hermione so disorganized. Tonks really should have said something earlier, because it's one of the more amusing things she's seen lately.

If only she could get them back on track, Tonks really thinks that they might be all right for the first time since Dumbledore's death.

It's the getting there that's going to be the problem.

Hermione tells them about scattered attacks in the south of England, far away from Order interference, about chilling relations between the Ministry for Magic and the rest of the government, about atrocity after robbery after terror. Fenrir Greyback is back in the game after all the years of no news being good news; everyone falls silent when they hear that. Tonks can't blame them. She looks down the table at Remus, whom she still loves even if she doesn't _love_ him, and the look on his face decides her.

"Hermione," she says gently. "Maybe you should leave it at that."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione gasps, following Tonks' gaze. She gathers her papers and sits with her head down, rubbing her hands together aimlessly.

Remus takes her hands and spreads them out on her lap. "It's all right, Hermione," he says and smiles. "I"m not that fragile. Not for a long time."

Tonks grins, and says no more.

Kingsley takes over the meeting then, since Harry declines to speak; he delegates assignments and assigns research. Tonks elects to Floo home. She had left a stew on to simmer before she'd left for the meeting, and hopefully it hadn't exploded or boiled over or any of the other hundred things that tend to happen to her when she cooks.

For a change, none of the above have happened, and she can sit down to her kitchen table and eat a quiet meal in her flat. She finishes up with a glass of wine and a letter to her mother, sitting at the little table by the window in her living room. A knock on the door sends her wine down her shirt, and Tonks is muttering when she opens the door, still glaring at her shirt with suspicion; an _Evanesco_ spell never got out the lingering memory of the stain that would always linger in her mind. Unfortunately, it happens to be one of her favorite shirts.

Tonks stops muttering when she looks up. Harry potter stares back at her, eyebrows raised; behind him, Ron and Hermione stand, looking around nervously, like they've been caught out after curfew at school.

Of course, knowing Harry, it's likely that they're involved with something much more dangerous than simple breaking of the rules.

"Come in before someone reports you for vagrancy," Tonks says, smiling. She stands aside and they obediently file in, looking around in amusement. Tonks' apartment is furnished in a pastiche of styles that only work together if the viewer isn't looking too closely. "So," she says, after she has them sitting and watered, "What can I do for the famous Harry Potter?"

"That's the problem," Harry says bitterly. "It's something I can't do myself, the papers would be all over me."

"You need to hire a prostitute?" Tonks asks politely.

"No!" Ron and Harry flush simultaneously, turning a degree of red that Tonks finds highly amusing.

"For reasons I can't explain, we need a certain... item that's currently located in Romania. We obviously can't get there, but I think you can." Hermione leans forward, entreating. "This is the one thing we need, Tonks. We have a plan, and I really think it could work, but we need this."

Tonks glances at Harry and Ron for confirmation, and although they can't meet her eyes without flushing a little, they both nod.

"All right," Tonks decides out loud. "I'll get it for you."

Hermione smiles like the sun coming out, relieved and blinding. She hands over a piece of parchment. "This is everything you need to know. We have to get going, or someone's going to notice we're gone. Owl Harry if you have any questions?"

Hermione smiles reassuringly and slips out the door, Ron and Harry in tow.

Tonks grins a little, indulgently, before settling back down at the desk by the window to read the mission brief. It's set up very like the ones she's used to receiving from Kingsley; it is, however, better written. Tonks giggles a little at the thought, but she abruptly stops when she reads down a little farther; in fact, the farther down she reads, the less amused she is.

She dashes off a couple of lines on a fresh piece of parchment and ties it around her owl's leg. "Don't you come back without an answer," Tonks says firmly, scratching him in the sweet spot behind his jaw. "Find Harry Potter," she orders and throws him out of the window. He screeches reprovingly and flies off faster than necessary. Tonks knows that she's going to have to make it up to him later; she knows it full well. She's furious, though. Harry has no right, and Hermione is just as bad.

> Harry,
> 
> You have **got** to be kidding me. You'd have to be significantly more handsome to get me to take up a life of crime.
> 
> Seriously, Harry. I'm disappointed in all three of you.
> 
> Tonks

Her owl returns within fifteen minutes; however, it takes an additional half-hour to get the letter off his leg.

> Tonks,
> 
> I apologize. I really do. We weren't exaggerating the importance of this, though. Is there any way we could talk you into it?
> 
> Hermione

Through her anger, Tonks recognizes that Hermione wouldn't claim that without a reason. It probably is just as important as Hermione says it is. She's still angry, and feeling betrayed, but...

> You owe me, all three of you.
> 
> I'm going to need help.

The response is just as fast, and her owl actually brings the letter to her. Tonks suspects that they've been pampering him in the interval.

> Charlie Weasley is already in Romania. Why don't you go "visit"?

It's a good cover, Tonks has to admit. Not that it'll make it any easier to get over the border, but it'll be significantly easier for her than it would be for anyone else, including Harry.

She'll go to Romania tomorrow, Tonks decides. Before that, though, she'll need a good night's sleep.

\---

She Apparates into the blustery, crowded inner city of Bucharest. Currently the only Ministry-sanctioned overseas Apparation point is behind the Ministry building. Customs and Security form a long, long line;. Tonks sighs, but joins the end of it, grateful that her current shape offers plenty of padding as protection from the wind.

Three hours later, she reaches the head of the line. The Ministry employee snaps his fingers for her papers; she hands them over with a mental sneer. He takes his time examining them, but finally looks up and asks her a question in Romanian. She shrugs and replies in Ukrainian. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

He sneers at her and repeats his question in accented Ukrainian. "I said, what's your business in Romania?" But she can tell that the language spell was a good idea, because he's markedly less suspicious than he was before, and it'll only take a little more bullshit to get past him entirely.

"Family emergency," she grunts. "My fool of a brother managed to find the only bad oysters in the entire city."

The guy smirks. "My condolences on your brother, sir." The way he'd said it, she wasn't sure whether he was serious, and really, it didn't matter. He'd called her 'sir'. He was buying it. He pro-offers a small piece of maper; Tonks can smell the magic on it from ten feet away. "Your visa, sir. Don't lose it, because you won't get another one. It's non-transferrable. Move down to Customs." He turns to the next person in line, and Tonks allows herself a secret smirk as she's practically strip-searched at the Customs station.

There's a taxi waiting outside. Charlie opens the door for her from the inside and smiles a little. "If you hadn't owled me I would never have recognized you," he says. "You're pretty amazing."

She doesn't usually have a problem with accepting compliments for an inherent ability she was born with, but for some reason this makes her feel twitchy. "Thanks," she grunts, getting in the car and closing the door. Charlie nods to the driver and they take off. "Is there somewhere I can change?"

"I don't live here," Charlie points out. "I've got us a hotel room for tonight."

"Where's your reserve?" Tonks asks out of sudden curiosity. She's curled up on herself in the corner of the cab; staying in a form not her own this long gives her the mental itches.

"It's the Oroduil Dragon reserve. It's off to the east a bit, most of that part of Romania is uninhabited." Charlie's looking at her like he can barely keep his questions to himself; it's a look she's familiar with, but there's something else in it, something... warming.

They pull up in front of what Tonks assumes is their hotel; it's dingy and run-down and perfect.

She throws of the old man as soon as they get into their room. It's very much like scratching that mental itch and Tonks wriggles a little in pleasure. She falls backward onto the bed and smiles brightly at Charlie. "Did the intrepid trio tell you why I'm here?"

Charlie laughs. "No," he says, amused. "They gave me marching orders and I came. Have you noticed it's getting harder to argue with those three lately?"

"Now that you mention it," Tonks says, dry and sarcastic. She grins at him. "You are going to help me rob a dead man."

"You're kidding, right?" Charlie asks, clearly not at all sure.

"I only wish I were," Tonks groans.

\---

"You're clear on the plan, right?" Tonks asks Charlie.

" _Yes_ ," he says calmly, "For the last time, I am perfectly clear on the plan. If you're going to have kittens, I suggest you do it now an get it over with."

Tonks shoots him a dirty glance, but goes quiet. They're in the bushes outside of the mark's house, making sure that their information is correct.

She takes a deep breath. "It's time." She resists the urge to ask once more if he knows the plan, deciding that discretion is the better part of valor there; instead, she dashes for the side door, keeping her head down. She reaches the door without incident and slips inside the house.

Their information was correct after all. There's about fifty people here having a wake for the house's former owner; all she has to do is slip through them and steal what he'd been working on when he died.

Of course, easier said than done, Tonks warns herself.

Tonks pulls on the form of the old man she'd been when she Apparated into Bucharest, wrinkled and jowly and unhappy about it, and walks right through them. So far, she thinks, so good.

Tonks searches every room on the third floor as fast as she can. She doesn't find what she's looking for, but then, Hermione had mentioned that it might be in Cadicue's study.

On the first floor.

Tonks searches the ground floor, too, as fast as she can get away with, but again she finds nothing. She's going to have to brave the wake again.

This time she's cornered and forced to drink something that tastes of rotten plums before she can get away again. Nothing she tries can get the taste out of her mouth; she'd vomit, but she's afraid that even that wouldn't help, and then her mouth would taste doubly delightful.

Tonks locks herself in Cadicue's study. A massive weight falls from her shoulders when she turns around and finds the orb sitting on his desk in plain sight.

She sends her Patronus out the window, absently interested to find that it had changed shape yet again, and pulls out the double-thick, lined leather bag Hermione had owled Tonks before she'd left England. She taps it into the bag gingerly, sealing it with a sign of relief. Now that it's done, all that is left is their escape.

Tonks isn't remotely surprised to find the cab waiting for her at the exit to the street, despite Charlie's remarks when he sees her face.

"Did you get it?" he asks urgently, motioning at the driver, who takes off with a squeal of thin tires.

Tonks pats the bag tied to her belt smugly. "I certainly did." She leans back into the seat. "I hope this is really as important as they said it was."

"Whatever Harry and Ron might say, Hermione wouldn't lie if she could help it," Charlie says comfortingly.

Tonks is just a little high; adrenaline is still flooding her system, and she looks over at Charlie consideringly. "Did you see what my Patronus was? I wasn't exactly paying attention at the time."

He's confused at the apparent non sequitur, but he says, "Yeah, it was a Welsh Green."

"I thought that might be it," Tonks says, amused. It makes sense, anyway.

The cab stops at the hotel and she has to climb over Charlie to get out. Tonks leans close as she slips him the bag, so close she can feel the backwash of her breath hitting his face. "Look me up when you come to London," she whispers. "I make a mean curry."

Tonks is out of the car and halfway into Apparating before Charlie even closes his mouth; she has no doubt about his answer, though. Not of the way he's looking at her is any indication.

> Harry,
> 
> Expect a delivery sometime soon by someone very close to you.
> 
> Send him 'round when you're done with him, will you?
> 
> Tonks

Tonks leans back with her wine and grins as her oul soars out of the window; she raises her glass to herself. "A job well done, you. Definitely a job well done," she whispers.


End file.
